To Where It All Falls Down
by Lili Mundi
Summary: The present: One prosecutor slowly losing his mind. The past: The murder of a recently tried man in the courthouse. The shadows hold more monsters than they think. P/E, plenty of character death, no risks taken vampire horror story
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognized characters within, and they are copyright of the respective owners. No copyright infringement is meant.

Notes: This will eventually be Phoenix/Edgeworth, and I don't plan on a happy ending. Just so you know. This has spoilers for the three Phoenix Wright games, and references to the Miles Edgeworth game.

To Where It All Falls Down  
By Lili Mundi

It was still dark outside when Miles Edgeworth woke up.

That sort of thing shouldn't- _didn't_ usually bother him. But now, with all that had happened- his heart started to beat out a rapid tattoo against his chest, the thundering blood rushing through his head adding to the already painful throb there. It was dark. It shouldn't be dark. He had made sure he'd wake up when there was plenty of light, plenty of-

The phone trilled in what appeared to be right next to his ear. His hand swung out automatically, thinking to shut up the infernal machine when his memory caught up to him. It had done this before, calling and begging to be let in with that pitiful- no, he couldn't pick up. No matter how badly it hurt his head, he couldn't get up and listen to that voice again.

It rang too many times before the answering machine clicked on, his own measured recorded voice making a mockery of his current state. As soon as the shrill beep filled the air, it was replaced with a familiar female voice.

_"Hi, Mr. Edgeworth? I just wanted to remind you that we need you in the office today, and that you can't work from home for this case."_

Of course. Relief flooded through him, leaving a tingling wake in his veins. The secretary. He attempted to find the receiver before she hung up, but it was for naught. Somehow, the phone had changed locations during the night.

_That might have been from attempting to silence that- voice_, he rationalized, lifting his head and looking around, blearily. The room was different, but that was to be expected. Rooms look different when trashed. But what caused his heart to pick up its pace again was the lack of light. It was too dark outside. It might still be out there, waiting to catch him, to finish the job. But, if it was - _eleven o'clock!_ - then why wasn't there more light? There was a scratch at the window, making him shudder. It must still be out there. Edgeworth buried himself deeper into the covers, shaking slightly. Any moment now, like the previous nights, like the previous weeks, it would-

_**Boom**_

The resulting shake caused him to choke slightly on his breath before the realization of what it was penetrated his sudden fear. Thunder. And the lightning hadn't struck before he had ducked his head under the covers, so it must have happened in short succession. He slowly sat up, eyes trying to focus on the window and the sudden gust of rain hitting it. With how loud and sudden it was, there was even the possibility that the lightning had even hit something nearby. Edgeworth's shoulders loosened slightly as he watched a figure leap away, the bound it made higher than the size should have allowed. But it was leaving, possibly half-deaf from the sudden crack of thunder. Edgeworth stood, carefully keeping his balance despite how he felt. If it was running away, then he could leave. He could go to work without worrying about it attacking him again, trying to finish the job.

It wasn't nearly as big a relief as he had hoped.

As he carefully tied his cravat about his neck (_that mark, that scar, it has to be hidden at all times_), he looked at his normal breakfast: fruit, delicious and sweet, laying innocently in the wicker basket on the counter. It looked... like dust. Disgusting, disintegrating, and completely not worth it. His stomach curdled at that thought, the idea it might be from his attempt to drown out cries with wine far from his head. It was what happened before _he_ died, how he had lost all interest in-

Edgeworth picked up an orange, peeling it before starting to bustle out the door. The results wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't happen.

Driving was incredibly difficult. The rain not only cut visibility by too much, but given how often he had driven since the accident and how the glaring headlights hurt his oversensitive eyes, there were nearly several times he pulled over and swore he would attempt to work from home yet again. But each time his pride rallied, and he kept going, knowing something like this wouldn't beat him. Not Miles Edgeworth.

When he finally parked in the garage, he rested his head against the steering wheel for a moment. Too much light. And the orange wasn't sitting well on his stomach. And his teeth felt like something was growing on them, as well as the overwhelming scent of red wine (_Cabernet sauvignon, from Chile. Surprisingly good for such a cheap price_) still clinging to his skin. Despite his suit being pressed to perfection and not a hair out of place, he felt slovenly and disheveled. Slowly, he straightened from his resting position, looking at the lot filled with metal boxes with wheels, devoid of any shapes even vaguely human shaped. They were all inside the building, typing and talking and writing away like nothing was different. Like all they had to worry about today was proving guilt and not getting wet on the way home.

Edgeworth shuddered. They all should have worried more. He finally gathered up his briefcase and exited the car, his fingers trembling as he pressed the button to lock the doors. He had to get inside, before it realized where he had gone, before it got there and ambushed-

His keys to his office rang through the suddenly quiet building, the prosecutors turning to watch the normally collected man fumble frantically with unlocking his door. As the sound went on, it was backed gradually by a soft roaring murmur, the other lawyers talking among themselves about the sight before them. It was uncommon, but not for the reasons Edgeworth wanted them to be. Uncommon that he was flustered, uncommon because he's usually the model of control, those were the reasons he wanted. Not because the others hadn't seen his face in... it must have been weeks by now.

His office was covered in a fine layer of dust. His eyes narrowed at that, about ready to call for the idiot detective that normally kept it pristine before memory hit him. No, it wasn't the detective's fault, Edgeworth thought, his stomach almost ready to forcibly eject the orange back the way it came.

This shouldn't have happened. This shouldn't _be_. Edgeworth put his briefcase down, hands shaking. That one case... how did it turn out with that many bodies? How were they supposed to know that it would turn out with that much dead?

There were papers on his desk. That must be-

* * *

"-the papers I've been waiting on. Thank you," Edgeworth said smoothly, taking the papers from his secretary. This case was rather open and shut. The gun recovered at the scene had the defendant's fingerprints all over it, the bullet had the same rifling pattern as the barrel of the gun, and the defendant had been arrested with gunpowder on his hands. While there were some prints from the victim on there, no witnesses, and no confession from the defendant, the truth was obvious. The defense attorney that took this case must have been an idiot. No one intelligent would take such an obvious losing case like this. Not even Wri-

Wait, who was the defense attorney again? Edgeworth felt dread start to choke him as he flipped back through the pages. He must have seen who he was going up against in court. It had to be a rookie. It couldn't be that-

It was. Phoenix Wright. The man groaned, putting the papers down. Of course. It only _seemed_ like a perfect case. Wasn't that how it always was? The simple, obvious cases weren't actually so, and the first indicator was that spiky-haired lawyer on the defense bench? Edgeworth found himself mentally preparing to double check the facts, to make sure there were no contradictions anywhere in the facts and testimonies.

_Stop that!_ He shook his head, reaching for his cooling cup of tea. _Just because Wright is on the case doesn't mean this person is innocent. There's no need to start doubting my own skills just because of who is on the opposite bench. The truth will always come out._

... but just in case, just this once.

So far, the testimony of those who called the police seemed to be consistent. Around 8:30 PM, right after sunset, there was a gunshot. Many people didn't remember the time exactly, but they did remember it had become dark outside. No one claimed to have seen the shooting, but the police did catch one Dolph Wulf stumbling out of the alleyway that the victim, Sangre de la Cruz, had been found in. While with no blood splatter on the defendant, there had been the unmistakable scent of cordite, and after testing for gunpowder, the results came back positive. The bullet had entered right above the heart, right through the aortic arch, which granted de la Cruz a fairly quick death. The shot would have been made a few yards away, and the arc was consistent with how the gunpowder spray declared how the arms were held. Everything was perfect. So why was Wright taking this case?

The only way to tell was to actually enter the courtroom and face his rival friend across the floor.

* * *

"Hold it!" How many times was Wright going to call that out in a day? Edgeworth found himself gritting his teeth, wondering what it could be this time. As usual, Wright was pressing every line of testimony the waitress at a nearby cafe was giving. "You say you didn't wait on their table, right? Then how did you know they were having an argument?"

"I told you!" the waitress whined, chomping on her gum furiously. "Another table complained about it! A-NY-WAY, after I came up to ask them to leave, I saw that man pull out a gun!"

"Objection!"

Here we go. Edgeworth noticed the sudden change in Wright's stance, and started to prepare himself. Usually it was something stupid, but there had been times he had put together points of evidence that somehow had even escaped Edgeworth's line of logic. Something about what the waitress said had triggered the unique Phoenix Wright Logic Leap.

"You say you saw the defendant pull out a gun? Was this at the table or as he was leaving?"

"As he was leaving, duuuuuuuuuh." She blew a bored bubble. "A-NY-"

"Hold it! Perhaps you weren't aware, Ms. Prep, but this gun isn't registered to the defendant."

_It isn't?_ Edgeworth frowned. Why hadn't that been in the case files? Why hadn't he requested the information as to who the gun belonged to? And how was this important?

"As you can see here," Wright kept going, waving a paper, "the gun isn't registered to one Dolph Wulf." He handed the paper to the bailiff, which Edgeworth snatched out, irritated.

"...! Ghhk!" It couldn't be. Edgeworth read the paper again, willing the words to make sense.

"Then who does the gun belong to, Mr. Wright?" The judge, clueless as ever, just fixed his eyes on the defense attorney, standing tall from a new boost of confidence. "Should we also charge Mr. Wulf with theft as well?"

"Maybe theft for self defense. As you can see, the gun is clearly registered to Sangre de la Cruz!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaa?" Somehow, Vivian Prep was able to hold her gum in her wide open mouth as she gaped at this revelation. "But I really saw the guy with a gun!"

That should have been the final nail, the obvious truth of the matter. Not only the facts that the evidence showed him as guilty as he could be, but that a waitress in the restaurant they had patronized right before the incident saw them arguing and saw the defendant with a gun. Facts, motive, and a witness at least to the motive and weapon. How could he had missed who the gun was registered to?

"Objection!" Edgeworth uncrossed his arms, pointing at Phoenix. "Why does this matter? He shot the victim with his own gun. All that means is he stole it first."

"Hold it!" Wright slammed his hands on the table, then pointed back, overly dramatic. "Then why weren't there any signs of a struggle in the alley?"

"The defendant caught Mr. de la Cruz unaware-"

"Objection! The gun shot came from the front. The victim had to be aware of what happened." Wright's face turned stern. "That was because the gunshot was in self defense!"

"Ghhk!" Edgeworth knew what that meant. If he had killed him in self defense, then he couldn't be tried for murder. But- Ah. He shrugged, shaking his head. "But by your own words, there were no signs of a struggle." He slammed his own hand down, stern. Where was the truth here? "He couldn't have shot him in self defense, because there was no defense going on!"

Several beads of sweat started rolling down Wright's face. Good. That line of thought was nothing more than a red herring. But... if the gun belonged to the victim, and there wasn't a sign of a struggle... not to mention the amount of distance between the two and the entry point of the bullet... Suddenly, Edgeworth found himself flinching back, connecting the dots. It couldn't be.

The gavel suddenly came down, breaking his line of thought. "Order! Order!" The judge looked between the two attorneys, serious. "I don't understand what is going on, but it seems pretty clear what's going on. The defendant is g-"

"Hold it!" Edgeworth slammed his hand down, lending that weight to his outburst. "I have one more person I'd like to call to the stand. You see, we haven't heard the defendant's testimony yet." He smirked. "I call Dolph Wulf to the stand."

Both the judge and Wright looked at him, a very peculiar expression on their faces, then Wright nodded. He got it. This wasn't about guilt or innocence. It was about truth. Something wasn't adding up. The victim's gun in the defendant's hand without a struggle... they had to find the truth here.

"A-bout time," Vivian Prep drawled, bouncing off the stage. "You're going to come visit, right?" She turned big, wet blue eyes on Wright as the bailiff comes to lead her away. Before he could answer, she was lead off the stand, and not a moment too soon. Her flirting was not only making Wright uncomfortable, but Edgeworth as well. A well groomed thirty-three man took her spot, in a sleek suit. The only jarring note in the man's appearance was his hair, the tufts of hair pointing out in black ears and a thick black beard.

"Will you state your name to the court?"

The man nodded, opening his mouth to speak in a low, rich growl. "My name is Dolph Wulf."

_Is there anyone in this town whose name isn't a pun with their visual appearance?_ The irony of the thought almost slipped Edgeworth's mind completely. Wulf smoothed his vest with his large hands, looking out at the court with steady eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Wulf. Now, if you could tell the court what happened?"

"Certainly." He lifted his chin, nodding. "Sangre called me to our favorite cafe that morning."

"Hold it!"

_And it begins,_ Edgeworth thought with a sigh, watching Wright start to wade through the testimony by asking questions about every. Single. Thing. _If he didn't have a perfect track record for finding out what really happened, the judge wouldn't have any of this._

"... and then we left the cafe."

"Hold it! In what order did you two leave?"

_Does it matter?_

Wulf thought about it for a moment. "I left first. Sangre must have left after me, as I only heard the gunshot later."

That caused another handslam. But even the judge had to know where this was going, as- "This clearly contradicts Ms. Prep's testimony!" As well as the testimony of everyone else that had sat in the cafe and testified to hearing the gunshot.

The tufts whisping upward suddenly grew more pointed, hackles up. "T-then I must have gotten confused. After all, I saw my best friend die that day, and-" Wulf attempted to smooth his hair out, failing to do so completely. "I was confused. I don't remember the order we left. However, once we left, I headed to my car."

"Objection!"

Wright looked over at Edgeworth, shock written plainly on his face, but he was tired of this. "It's well known, Mr. Wulf, that you have the same driving capabilities as your attorney. That is, none at all!"

The tufts sprang back up.

"Furthermore, there is overwhelming evidence that you were at the scene of the crime, and not only held the weapon, but fired it. And when your own attorney gives you a reason you would be innocent, that is, having fired at him in self defense, you refuse to take it."

The man shrunk down on himself, cringing away.

"It's almost as if, despite your claims that you didn't kill the man, you want to be caught!"

"I didn't murder him!"

Wulf suddenly sprang up, panting. "No matter what anyone says, after fifteen years of being together, I didn't murder him!"

_Wait..._ The language there was interesting. The entire time, Wulf had not denied kill him, but rather kept using the word "murder." And fifteen years... "According to your own testimony at the police station, you were friends with him for twenty years."

"...!" He started panting harder.

"You've been using an interesting choice of words, Mr. Wulf. But no matter what, even if you say you didn't murder him, the evidence says his death was by your hands!"

Wulf lowered his head. "... understand... you don't understand!" His head whipped up, his mouth open enough to show his teeth. "Five years getting to know him, fifteen together, living with him, watching him get hurt and slowly get sick... but I couldn't ever murder him!"

_Is he...?_

It looked like Wright had started to get the same idea, the horrified realization dawning on his face. "Mr. Wulf, five months ago, Mr. de la Cruz had been attacked by an animal and hospitalized. Is that the incident that you're referring to?"

"He was dying," the man whispered. "He couldn't stand it. And how he- we thought the transfusion was- before it could turn full blown, he wanted to die. Sangre-" Dolph Wulf suddenly threw his head back, letting out a mournful wailing howl. It rang through the courtroom, filling the ears of everyone watching with his grief. Even when he fell quiet, the howl rang in the air, hanging over everyone's head.

In the quiet, Wright's voice hesitantly spoke up. "What happened to Sangre de la Cruz?"

Wulf's voice rich voice came out soft, broken. "Back in high school, we had- we found out we both liked men. We've been together that long, and when he got- hurt, he had to have a transfusion. He started getting sick, and... it seemed like it was AIDS. He didn't want to live like that, so he took his gun and asked me-" He stopped talking, snapping his teeth shut.

_Suicide. Assisted suicide._ Edgeworth felt dizzy at the realization. In the eyes of the law, it was still murder. But the fact the man had been pushed that far...

"I didn't murder him," Wulf said brokenly. "I killed him, but I didn't murder him. I didn't-"

The sound of the judge stirring broke the spell over the crowd, and murmurs spilled out from the viewers. It took several moments of gavel slamming down against the desk, but eventually the crowd stopped talking. "After that confession, I don't think anything else needs to be said." Wright had his head bowed across the way, his face showing his own shock and feelings of betrayal about the events. But it was a learning experience, Edgeworth surmised as the guilty verdict came down. Not every client would tell the truth, after all.

He was packing up his notes when he realized the defense hadn't done the same, and was in fact still standing there with shock on his face. A client so far in his own grief that he denied even the results of his own actions... Wright had probably never seen that before. Edgeworth snapped his briefcase shut, looking over at his opposition, feeling a spin of sympathy and a nagging feeling of incompletion. The time he had sat in the defendant seat jumped up and down inside of him, trying to pull his attention to the guilt and feeling he had that he had to properly make it up to Wright for finding the truth of that matter. It was rather late, as the trial had been one of the last scheduled. The time of the year it was, the sun was probably down. He could... perhaps buy the man a drink.

No sooner had the thought occurred, it was interrupted. A scream override all the murmuring from the galley, and two brief, impossibly loud gunshots. Then nothing, everything still and eerie as the noises were processed.

Then a stampede towards the cacophony, curiosity ringing louder than self preservation.

The scene made little sense. All that blood, everywhere. Up the walls, across the floor, smeared against the bent bars of the window... everywhere. Almost tucked out of the way was the officer escorting Wulf back to his cell, the wall behind him cracked and dented with blood and something white and hard splattering the wall. Edgeworth's mind tried to shy away from what the hard substance might be, tried to ignore the clumps of skin and flesh attached to it.

In the middle of the scene, simple suit garish against the messy scene, was the now proven guilty defendant. The first thing one's eye focused on was the mess at his neck. It was... red. And pulpy. And showing bits of pink and white.

Edgeworth heard people behind him rush off to be noisily sick, and suddenly felt the urge to join them. He turned away from the scene to see a disturbed and sheet white Phoenix Wright, his hand suddenly slapping over his mouth to keep from ejecting the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His eyes caught Edgeworth's as he turned, the look in them slightly lost, blank, and upset.

In the middle of a courthouse, something had gotten in and savagely mauled the defendant and had managed to slam the guard's head against the wall hard enough for his skull to crack and fly. Something fast enough to do both. Something strong enough to bend the bars on the courthouse windows.

Something.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The rain had passed by the time Edgeworth pulled himself out of the office. While it was unbearably humid, the sun shining down through the buildings was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Even the thick L.A. traffic meant nothing as he relished the light, bright and wonderful. Without realizing it, he kept driving, not wanting to leave the safety of the sunlight.

When he finally stopped, Edgeworth inhaled sharply. His idly moving hands had taking him to a well maintained, open, and distressingly green graveyard. In the back of his head, he remembered the feeling of the grass getting bent while he sat, the softness of it while he slept in front of the first grave that should not be, the wet crush against his cheek as he bled out in the dewy, morning air-

His fingers convulsed on the wheel, his cravat suddenly too tight. No, it wouldn't happen this time, not again. It was light out, and it couldn't attack him like that. Slowly, Edgeworth eased out of his car, taking in the soft green scent and sharp perfumed flowers of the final resting place before him. There were a few graves here to look at, including a few he knew by heart. The trail to his father's own stone was one he knew by heart, even if he didn't take the path as often as he should. The other trails... only two were of importance, and one was a lie. He started walking the other path, heading for one simple, unassuming grave.

Someone had visited recently. That wasn't surprising. He may not have had any tact, but personality made up for it. A large puppy dog, not unlike Pess when she was a little thing, and completely guileless. People visiting his grave and cleaning it up, leaving offerings for the living memory, wasn't particularly surprising.

A stab of guilt ran through Edgeworth's chest. So guileless that he had opened the door and invited in something wearing a dead friend's face. He sat down, none of his limbs feeling attached, and looked at the new stone.

There was nothing to say. But wasn't that how it usually was? Before, when visiting his father, he had only stayed long enough to acknowledge the still gaping hole where the parent used to reside and to pay respects. The last time he had been here- it had been to pour his grief out about a long friend, and the events from that death of a defendant to then that caused it. What would he say now? _"I'm sorry, I should have known"_? No, there was nothing to say.

Damn it all. This shouldn't be. How-

* * *

"-this could've happened, sir." Edgeworth didn't even have to look up to know what sort of face Detective Gumshoe was pulling. The ashamed, hand behind his head, one eye closed... he took a quick glimpse up from the horrific scene being photographed to see that he was perfectly right.

And that the detective was voicing not only what he thought, but what the prosecutor witnessing the aftermath had decided as well. They had no idea how this could've happened, and each bit of evidence proved it further and further. Iron bars, in place to keep guilty parties from escaping, had been bent enough for a human body. The guard had been thrown hard enough to not only crack his skull, but for pieces of skull to go flying. And the defendant's, the victim's neck, torn apart like an animal had gotten to it.

"Don't worry about it, sir!" Gumshoe's stance had changed, now charged with his infinite energy and more than ready to figure the mystery out. "We'll get to the bottom of this!" He smiled, happily confident in the abilities of everyone on the case. While Edgeworth couldn't talk for the detective's own skills, it was true that the entire team had a knack for investigations. "So just leave it to us!"

"I leave this case in your department's capable hands." He did trust Homicide, as they did their job well enough to give Edgeworth many good, hard pieces of evidence. And Gumshoe had his moments of brilliance. Rarely. Edgeworth turned around to leave when he caught the usual unusual sight of a cheap blue suit and mystical Oriental robes huddled close together. Wright was using his mass to block the younger Fey sister's line of sight to the scene, and was talking softly to her. The girl had a hand over her mouth, half in thought, and half in nausea.

Wright, the prosecutor realized with a start, was just as visibly upset as Maya. His face was the palest it had ever been while healthy, and he still wore the shocked look that had fallen onto his face when the guilty verdict had come down. But despite the slight tremor in his voice, he was talking in soothing tones to her, trying to calm her down. The girl gave him a shaky smile, forcing her own courage to come to the fore, and nodded. Then, as suddenly to Wright as it was to him, she hugged the spiky haired man.

The moment... it was almost frightening how strong those two were.

"Oh, Mr. Edgeworth!" Maya pulled back from her own comforting of Wright when she noticed his approach. Wright turned as well, the surprise evident in his eyes. He knew what the thought was, and he didn't know himself why he was making this offer. "Umm... " She elbowed Wright, hissing something at him that caused the man to flush red and stammer back at her. This went on for a while, and rapidly lost its charm.

"As amusing as this is," Edgeworth started, taking a little vindictive joy at the jump the two did, "the offer does have an expiration date. If you wish to take me up on it, follow me." He turned to leave, smirking as he heard the two stumbling after him.

"H-hey, Edgeworth, this offer..." He knew what he would ask, and smirked. It got bigger as he heard Maya shush him and the words "gift horse," "look," and "mouth" escaped her lips. But at the same time, he wondered himself how deeply the courtroom confession and subsequent murder affected him. His fingers curled around the keys to his car, constantly asking himself what he was doing, why he was making this offer.

There was an appropriate noise of appreciation from the young Fey as they approached his car, and the two of them looked at Edgeworth in mild confusion. "As the day's events have played out, I figured it would be a poor idea for you two to ride home on the bus." The doors unlocked with two presses of a button, the clicking of the locks popping open loud in the strange silence. He looked behind him at the duo, taken aback at the serious and grateful looks on their faces.

"Thanks, Edgeworth," Wright said softly, his brave facade cracking slightly. The weariness from arguing so hard, losing the case from unknown grief, and his client's subsequent murder peeked through the crack, and a stab went through the prosecutor at the vulnerable look under it.

"I am only repaying a debt," Edgeworth told him stiffly, carefully putting his briefcase in the trunk. "You'll have to give me the address of where you live, as I've never seen a reason to visit your place of residence before."

The look on Wright's face said those words stung, but he and Maya sat down carefully in his car. It was almost amusing how they sat, as if afraid of hurting the upholstery and bringing down a prosecutor's wrath. Maya took the back seat, unusually quiet as the day's events finally hit her as well. An awkward silence covered the car as he turned it on and started down the streets. Wright softly gave instructions how to get back to the apartment he rented and Maya stayed at (though they were slightly odd, given they were from the perspective of a bus rider), with the girl in the back seat slowly nodded off.

"Wright," Edgeworth suddenly spoke up, the word forcing itself out of his throat.

"Hm?" The man looked over at him, apparently too wiped to say more than that.

"Clients will lie. They will try to get anything done by any means possible, and even the ones you represent have lied. In this case, it wasn't to get away with murder, but it seemed to protect his own mind from having killed his own suicidal and ill lover." The words spilled out awkwardly, unsure that was what he wanted to truly say. "Many romantics have a hard time losing a lover, and he not only had someone he loved since a teenager, but someone that also didn't look down on his sexual preference." He had no idea what he was trying to say here, or that if he was even saying it to Wright. "His verdict, and his death, do not reflect on you."

Edgeworth could feel Wright's gaze on him, the look he gave when on the path to the truth. "Turn right at the next street," he said instead, softly. "It's the third building on the right." Which was nice, very close by without a parking lot immediately evident so the foolish attorney wouldn't say things like- "I got some new coffee last week. Would you like some?"

... they probably knew each other too well if Wright actually just asked that instead of it staying in Edgeworth's mind as a stupid, possible question.

"I must refuse," he said stiffly, pulling to a stop in front of the building. "With this trial over, I'm expected to take on another case, and I must get on that as soon as possible."

"Edgeworth-"

"Until next time, Wright."

Wright looked at him for a moment, then slumped, nodding. "Yeah, next time," he echoed, weakly. "C'mon, Maya."

The girl didn't answer.

"Hey, Maya." Wright turned slightly, pushing her shoulder. She moved with the push slightly, letting out an unfeminine snort and half asleep murmur. It was obvious she wasn't going to stir, especially after Wright shook her a few more times before giving up and moving to lift her out of the car. A part deep inside Edgeworth felt jealous at this, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his own bed and do the same. He ignored that and instead stopped his car. Wright looked at him in dull surprise, then nodded as Edgeworth unbuckled the seat belt holding Maya upright and smoothly lifted her petite form out of the car. "Yeah, I'd need my hands free for the doors and- she's a lot heavier than she- thanks, Edgeworth."

He could have sworn he saw Maya frown slightly at the comment about her weight, then look pleased as he picked her up. This observation was tucked away in his mind, as well as the knowledge that she could be one devious young woman, while he carried her up to the apartment she shared with Wright. She wasn't as heavy as the other man claimed she was, but it did seem like she packed more pounds than her little frame spoke of. She seemed more muscular than she should have been as well, most likely a side effect of whatever training she had to endure in the village she lived at.

The apartment was as small as Edgeworth had expected, the only surprise being there was enough room for Maya's bed. He tucked her in, sourly noting the very self-satisfied look on her face. Yes, she was incredibly devious for such an open and happy woman. But he was going to have to disappoint her as he turned to leave.

"Um, Edgeworth, since you're already up here and all-"

He raised a hand, cutting Wright off there. "As it is, I'm already cutting it close, considering where I parked. If you have anything you wish to say, Wright, please come by the office around one o'clock. I'll be free to take frivolous questions then."

Wright was able to make his own logical, if unique connections. "Okay. I'll... see you at lunch tomorrow." He yawned, trying to hold it back and failing. "Hey, Edgeworth? Thanks."

Somehow, that was the most uncomfortable thing said so far.

* * *

It was nearly two weeks before Wright could finally make his way into Edgeworth's office. The case, and the ones following it, had taken more time than he expected, and he had been out of the office at odd times to investigate. The first time he had been able to be sitting at his desk at the reported time had a rather different visitor.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir! We've managed to get a hit on the partial print we found!"

Given the headache that had been building before that cheerful, low voice had broken into his thoughts, Edgeworth's response had been a good deal sharper than usual. "That is wonderful, detective, however, I have the results right here." He picked up a paper, noting the prints on the knife collected at the scene of this crime matched the prints of the defendant. And given the defense attorney for this defendant was a no-name, new lawyer, he was reasonably sure this one was as guilty as he could be.

Gumshoe visibly deflated at that, scratching the back of his head. "No, not that one, I mean... it took us a while, but we finally got a hit on the bloody partial outside the window at the courthouse. And you'll never believe who's print it is!"

The courthouse. The sudden memory of blood splatter and choking scent of death came rushing to the fore, causing Edgeworth's irritation level to spike. "Detective, when I said I had faith, I meant I had faith in you finding more in two weeks time than a match on a partial print you found on the initial investigation. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a case that I have to review."

"But Mr. Edgeworth, sir..."

"That was a dismissal, Detective Gumshoe."

The man left, dejected, and a tiny voice hesitantly piped up with the idea that perhaps he was a little too harsh on Gumshoe. He ignored the voice, looking through his notes and adding a few more.

"Um-"

"Detective, if you don't leave me alone, I will have another review of your salary."

"I'll let Gumshoe know that." Edgeworth's head lifted slightly as he recognized that voice not as the bumbling detective's, but as a certain defense attorney. His stomach let out a slight whine at the sight of a plastic bag holding a Styrofoam box, the scent affirming it was food. "Sorry about not coming earlier. I heard about the cases you had, and I even got one of my own." He had won that one, against a prosecutor that had been on a winning streak and had started getting a big head about it. "So uh... do you like Thai?"

* * *

Edgeworth contemplated. Contemplation was done quite often, but there were other subjects usually dwelled on. His own cases, for instance. His father's death and von Karma's involvement. The mysterious murders at the courthouse when no one could find a viable suspect or even how such an event could happen.

"In China," he finally said, voicing his inner thoughts, "people tend to supplement meat dishes with tofu, rather than using it as a meat substitute."

Wright looked at him oddly, quickly chewing a mouthful of pad thai before responding. "There's no tofu in this, Edgeworth." He sounded confused, no doubt due to his lack of ability to know exactly what the prosecutor was thinking.

"I am aware of that, Wright. However, I was merely dwelling on that while eating and on the vegetarian movement in the United States." He forked a mouthful of his own in, calmly chewing as Wright smiled, shaking his head. The two of them ate in silence for a bit (or rather, Edgeworth ate while Wright shoveled food down as if it was his last meal, or perhaps his first) before Edgeworth noticed something odd. There was a mark on Wright's neck, almost like a scar. "Wright, what is that on your neck?"

The other lawyer blinked at him, noodles hanging limp from his mouth. Confused, he raised his hand and touched his own neck. Slowly, the pads of his fingers trailed down the flesh and across the raised mark there, catching slightly. Wright's breath hitched slightly as he traced the mark, his head tilting back slightly to accommodate the digits, then he dropped his hand, shaking his head as he finished chewing and swallowing his mouthful. "I don't know," he confessed, his voice somewhat lower and filled with something Edgeworth couldn't place.

He licked his lips, uncomfortable with the sudden turn. Wright, somehow uncomfortable as well, put down his fork. Before the defense attorney could say anything, however, Edgeworth cut in. "I do have a rather large work load today, Wright. The lunch, as always, was welcome, but I must cut this short. Tomorrow?"

Wright nodded, the gesture a little fast and going on for a little long. "Yeah, sure." He started cleaning up the boxes to carry home for dinner for him and Maya, then stopped, looking at a note left on Edgeworth's desk. "Hey, is that-?"

"Hm?" Edgeworth took a glance at the note, then rolled his eyes. "Ah yes, the detective's amazing find. There was a partial print they found that... one day. I believe the incomplete nature of the print as well as the smearing created that false match."

"That'd be one interesting twist," Wright mused, shoving the boxes back into the plastic bag. "Sangre de la Cruz kills his killer, his own lover."

A chill went down Edgeworth's spine at that, the idea less interesting and far creepier than he wished to think about. "Indeed. However, given that de la Cruz is dead, it's a false match. And if Maya is accompanying you tomorrow, please let me know ahead of time so I can budget her meal as well."

* * *

Perhaps the case was stranger than he had originally thought. Edgeworth frowned as he looked at the footprint found at the scene of the crime. Originally, it had seemed like the defendant had been the killer, bashing in the victim's head with a piece of old pipe. But it soon became clear that not only was she not capable of picking up the pipe without breaking some bones due to her Osteogenesis Imperfecta, she wasn't even tall enough to do so without help. However, the print of the shoes found, her own special ones made so walking was easier and to match her own... unique fashion tastes, put her at the scene of the crime. Very strange. Edgeworth flipped through his notes, trying to find something that had escaped his notice the first time around.

He could hear his phone ringing, but it didn't penetrate the wall of concentration he had hidden behind. There were more important things than taking a call right now. And if it was someone with more information, they could come down to the office themselves and present it to him. Edgeworth went back to his notes, starting to see lines drawn between the facts.

The prints weren't her own, but the person whose they were was a mutual friend of theirs. There wasn't any evidence yet, but a quick look at bank account transfers could easily explain-

A knock on the door rudely ripped Edgeworth out of his thoughts. "Wright, I cannot be interrupted right now," he told the closed door, his voice edging into snarling. "Return later."

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door, then a hesitant voice. "Sir, Mr. Edgeworth, sir. It's..."

"_Detective._ Whatever it is can wait."

"No, sir, I don't-"

"Leave, detective. Unless you wish for your salary to be negotiated even further."

"But, sir-"

Edgeworth stood up, throwing the door open to show the meek bear of a detective. "Detective, not only was that a dismissal," he said coolly, his voice showing the amount of anger within, "but a very unsubtle hint to leave me alone. You aren't even on this case, and thus would not have anything for me. _Leave me be_, de-"

"That was Miss Maya!" Gumshoe blurted out in a rush. "Miss Maya just called the station and she said she was going to try to call over here. She's really upset and she's crying a lot and we need to be there for them!"

The chill of his anger was drained away, leaving him with a greasy sick feeling oozing up through his stomach. "Maya? What happened?" The reason why Maya would call, not Wright... why Wright wasn't here, despite the fact he should have been finished with his case today, he should have been there ready to go out for food- "The case, it didn't-"

"It's Dolph Wulf all over again," Gumshoe said, his voice shaking. "Mr. Wright was attacked. He's in the hospital."


End file.
